Classic Poem

WHEREIN VAUCLUSE IS CROWDED WITH AGONIZING MEMORIES

This air responsive proves to sighs alone
When, from harsh rocks I see the landscape smile
Where she was born who, for a weary while,
Nurtured my hope from bud to fruit full-blown.
Now I am desolate — and she is flown;
A solitary mourner, I revile
My dim defeated eyes that must beguile
With tears the loneliness they look upon.
No root, no stone among these empty hills,
No branch, no brilliant leaf these glades among,
Nor in the valley flowers starring grass,
Nor drop the flashing fountain overspills,
Nor savage beast amid these shadows flung,
But knows what grief I bear and cries, " Alas! "